


Little Red Lies - Case-file #6 - Part 7 (Final)

by Geelady



Category: The Mentalist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-04
Updated: 2012-03-04
Packaged: 2017-11-01 03:22:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/351414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geelady/pseuds/Geelady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The trial concludes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Red Lies - Case-file #6 - Part 7 (Final)

LITTLE RED LIES Part 7  
Author: G. Waldo  
Rating: Case-fic’. Some angst. Mentions of violence. Hurt-comfort. Light humour, and of course Jane-pain.   
Characters: Jane/Lisbon friendship  
Summary: The trial and the tribulations...  
Disclaimer: Not mine though I wish he was.

CBI

Williams stole a puzzled look at his opponent, started to rise and then sat back down when Judge Gilpin spoke up. He looked a little confused, too. “Ms. Selby, are you certain that is all the questions you have for your client at this point in time?”

“Actually your honour,” Selby said, respectfully standing up. “If it pleases the court, I request a short recess to confer with my client, thereafter Mister Williams may resume his questioning if he so pleases. I know this is an unusual time for such a recess but I am appealing to your good will. I will keep it as brief as possible. Fif-twenty minutes, your Honour, that’s all.”

Gilpin thought for a few seconds, and then nodded. “Twenty minutes. Make them good ones, counsellor.”

Selby steered her client from the courtroom and, other would-be toilet-users be-damned, directly into the women’s washroom. “What the hell are you doing?” She snarled. “You are going to jail, Patrick. Do you comprehend how serious this is? Because this time it’ll be a Federal Institution and, considering that little break out you did, possibly solitary confinement. Think you can sneak away from that? Think again!”

Jane thrust a hand back toward washroom door and the court room beyond. “I won’t be made to discuss my murdered family’s corpses before a room full of strangers who are only there for the gore.” 

Selby took a deep breath. “If there was any other way...”

“Find one.”

Lisbon entered. “What the hell is going on?”

Jane threw his lawyer an angry glare. “Excuse me. I believe I’m in the wrong bathroom.” He said and left them alone.

Lisbon looked at Selby, waiting for an explanation. Selby gave her one. “That’s what I mean about him not playing his part. We’re drowning and he’s stirring the water.”

“It’s hard for him to talk about those days. It drives him crazy.”

Selby huffed, crossing her arms. “Yeah, I am aware. How hard do you think it’s going to be for him in jail for twenty years? Unable to continue his hunt for Red John? Unable to do anything but become some ‘roided-out freak’s little blonde bitch?” 

“There must be a way to do this without hurting him.” Lisbon said. She had never seen Jane so on the edge before. Something was eating him alive.

Selby sighed and leaned against the salmon coloured counter. “We seem to do a lot of this in the bathroom, look,” she said. “It’s obvious you care about him, but if Jane stands on principle, he is going to go to jail. And right now the jury is seeing robot-man up there, emotionless, withdrawn. I get why he’s that way - who wouldn’t be hiding? But he needs to be humanized-” Selby put up a hand at the look that came over Lisbon’s face “I know he is human, but the jury doesn’t see him that and what they see means everything. I have got to find a way to bring out the vulnerable, broken, and messed-up in the head Jane or we’re lost. And honestly? It may already be too late.”

Lisbon hated herself for saying it. “Maybe I can help?”

Selby thought it over for a moment, and then told her.

Lisbon called the office and Van Pelt answered. Lisbon explained what she needed and where she needed it faxed to.

At the other end of the line, Van Pelt paused. She sounded puzzled. “Are you sure that’s what you need, boss?”

“Yes, and as fast as possible. We’re on the clock.” 

CBI

William announced. “I would like to call Kimball Cho to the stand, your Honour.”

Cho and Lisbon exchanged glances. “Screw ‘em.” She whispered to Cho as he stood. In other words, give Williams back as good as he gives. Among his peers Cho had a reputation for being not only a first class interrogator but insufferably inscrutable. This ought to be interesting, Lisbon thought.

Williams started simply. “You have worked with Mister Jane for four years, have you Mister Cho?”

“Yes.”

“And would you say that he is an honest man?”

“Like most people, he is honest most of the time.”

“Most of the time?” Williams asked. 

“Well, I doubt you’re honest all the time.”

“You barely know me, Mister Cho.”

“You’re a lawyer; I don’t have to know you.”

That elicited a small round of chuckles in the courtroom and Williams cleared his throat loudly to quell it. “”How well do you really know Patrick Jane?”

“Well enough.”

Williams frowned, thinking. “Well enough to know when he is lying and when he is telling the truth? Each time? Every time?”

“Well enough to know that when he has lied, he did it to catch a killer or to protect the team.”

“How often do you see Mister Jane outside of work?”

“Almost never. Jane’s a private person.”

Williams smiled to himself. “Mister Cho, now I can understand that you want to be loyal to your – er – friend, and that you understand that he on trial for murder but, we know you and he spent a great deal of time together outside of work. More than anyone. Do you deny this?”

“No, but whatever time we may have spent was for work. We put in over-time. We follow up leads. We do surveillance - often all night. Jane and I are sometimes unofficially partnered up for the police work we do.”

“Unofficially?”

“Jane is a contract consultant. Agent Rigsby and Agent Van Pelt are partners, most of the time Agent Rigsby and I are partners but sometimes it’s Jane and me. It varies depending on what needs to be done.”

“”Partners”. Williams said. “I see. But isn’t it true that Lisbon often assigns to you, for lack of a better word, babysitting duty over Mister Jane because of his tendency to misbehave, disobey orders, disappear for hours at a time with no word, even interrogate suspects he had been ordered to stay away from?”

“Are you asking for specific occasions?”

“I’m speaking in general terms.”

“Then, speaking in general terms, you’re incorrect. But if you want specifics I can give them to you.”

Williams rubbed his lip. “Do you like Mister Jane?”

“Well enough.”

“But he’s likeable, isn’t he? He gives nice gifts, he takes the team out to dinner, he brings in pastries and fruit to the office; he does a lot of that – gift-giving.”

“Is that a question?”

Abruptly changing tactics, Williams turned on Cho and spat out. “How long have you and Mister Jane been involved in a romantic relationship?” 

Cho looked at him like he was insane. “I-I beg your pardon?” 

“Involved.” Williams underlined the word. “Sexually? How long?”

“Are you nuts??”

Lisbon heard the sincerity in Cho’s voice. He really believed what he was saying. Cho didn’t remember his involvement with Jane and she instantly knew why.

“Mister Cho, you are under oath. And we have gleaned-“

“-Who’s “we”?” Cho asked.

Williams snapped. “The prosecution, my team, has gleaned information. Gleaned means gathered, analyzed, derived...”

Cho interrupted “Or it means deducing a conclusion, taking part from a whole or picking out for a reason. What conclusion your team deduced for whatever reason from whatever part is wrong. Jane and I have never been involved physically or romantically. We’re friends and team-mates and that’s all.”

The prosecutor coughed, realizing that his team had made a gross miscalculation. He would have to decide which one of them would end up on the street looking for a new post. 

Williams, seasoned enough as a prosecutor to know when to cut his losses, said to the Judge. “No more questions your Honour.”

Cho returned to his seat and Lisbon asked him. “Are you all right?”

Cho shook his head. “Massive headache. What the hell was all that about?”

Lisbon looked at the back of Jane’s head. He was sitting very stiffly with his eyes on his hands. Not directly answering Cho “Jane’s probably up next.” She said. 

“I call Mister Patrick Jane once more to the stand.” Williams announced and said then to the judge “If it pleases your Honour, we have a short film to show the jury before I begin my questioning.”

In her seat Selby whispered to Jane. “Here it comes.” Jane turned his eyes to the viewing screen already set up opposite the jury box. It was angled so most of the onlookers would have a clear view as well.

Gilpin asked. “I am assuming the defence has knowledge of this – do you have any objection Ms. Selby?”

Selby stood long enough to say. “No your Honour. No objection.” She couldn’t very well protest on prejudicial grounds, because if she did then her own planned presentation might be disallowed. If Williams was going to have his little horror show, then so would she. 

Williams sat down as the film ran. 

It was without sound but Lisbon, seated directly behind the defence’s table, had a front row view and instantly recognised it as the scene from the mall over a full year previous. The images were of poor quality from a cheap tape-recorded surveillance but it showed a still recognizable Jane approaching the man, Timothy Carter, who was seated at a cafe’ table reading his paper. The two men began to speak. Jane then sat down opposite him, as though they were friends. They spoke for many minutes before the fellow rose and, in the footage appearing unarmed, began to walk away. Jane then followed and the man turned. Jane spoke again, the man answered and then his body jerked, convulsing as Jane fired three bullets into his chest. The man fell. As the other patrons ran for cover Jane placed the gun carefully beside the body and resumed his seat, sipping his tea, appearing calm in every way. Lastly Jane spoke a few words to a waitress cowering nearby, and the film ended, freeze-framed on the image of Jane enjoying his post-murder tea, the bleeding body of Timothy Carter lying nearby. 

Williams resumed his speech. “This, as some of you may already be aware, was the murder of Timothy Carter, the man Mister Jane was charged with murdering last year.” Williams underlined the word “last” as though with Jane murder was a yearly event. “True, Mister Jane was acquitted yet we see him pulling the trigger on a gun and very clearly shooting Timothy Carter, killing him. 

“Now we are not here to re-open that murder case but we are here to try to understand the mind of Patrick Jane and those things that motivate him. Number one on that list is revenge, something of which he has spoken about to his colleague on more than one occasion. Mister Jane shot this man Timothy Carter because he thought he was Red John. This was a revenge killing in which Mister Jane partook. 

“Now my colleague would have you believe that Mister Jane experienced temporary insanity when he killed Joshua Neil, yet I ask you,” Williams pointed to the frozen image on the screen. “Does that appear to be a man who is out of his mind? Does he appear disturbed to you – even remorseful? Not to me, he doesn’t. He appears calm and collected through-out. Hardly the actions of a crazy man. Hardly the actions of man full of uncontrollable insanity, wouldn’t you say? I in fact see no emotion of any kind. I see a man satisfied with his act of violence. I see a man in the prime of his life with total command over himself and making the decision to kill.”

Williams pointed to Jane still seated in the witness box. “I see Mister Patrick Jane committing murder, just as he did against Joshua Neil only months ago. I see a perfectly sane man, not a crazy man. I see a man with a temper who keeps himself under strict control until the hour he needs to summon it up enough to destroy another human being.” 

Williams looked at the jury, his eyes going over each of their faces one by one. “If you are reasonable, intelligent people and I am in no doubt that you are, that is what you see as well. But you know what –why don’t we ask him?” Williams spun on Jane and began pounding him with evidence. “You believed Timothy Carter was an accomplice of Red John, but you were wrong, you believed Joshua Neil was an accomplice of Red John but you were wrong. You believe Red John had accomplices everywhere. Who else are you going to shoot Mister Jane??”

Selby stood. “Objection!”

Williams waved a casual hand in her direction. “Withdrawn. But really Mister Jane...” Williams continued, “Accomplices everywhere? One to a tree it seems? Your little game of revenge seems to have gotten out of hand.”

“It’s not a game to Red John, and we have documented cases of those who were Red John’s accomplices who have killed law enforcement officers. Red John has eyes and ears and he uses them. It’s a power-control thing.” It was the longest series of sentences Jane had spoken since the beginning of the trial.

“Eyes and ears.” Williams scoffed. “You are paranoid, aren’t you Mister Jane?” 

“No, just experienced.”

“This obsession you have for this killer has been your undoing. Why would this Red John need to watch you, as you say? That’s –“

“Insane?” Jane asked. “I’m not insane. But I know Red John likes to keep tabs on me. I know he watches me or has others watch me. One of his loyal supporters could be in this courtroom right now watching me.” 

From where she sat Lisbon could hear Selby gasp and drop her pen so it rattled off the table. Jane had said the words. He had stated that he was not insane. Lisbon suddenly felt sorry for Selby.

Jane was looking pointedly at Williams. “Or he’s watching you watch me. Red John wants to keep the control he thinks he has over me to himself.” Jane explained the thought processes of a killer to a man who had never had occasion to fear for his life until the day he brought a charge of murder against one Patrick Jane. “Red John doesn’t like it when other people...interfere with me. He gets upset when those within the circle of my life, whoever they are, hurt me or cause me damage without his...permission.”

Jane’s unbroken stare was a sad, sober warning. “You’re in that circle now, Mister Williams by virtue of being the prosecutor in this case. Red John will have his eyes on you, too. You’ve become another player in his psychopathic game, just like the rest of us.”

Williams coughed once and turned his back on Jane boldly dismissing the warning he had just been given. “Let us stick to the facts of the case shall we Mister Jane? And the facts are your fingerprints are on the murder weapon. It was found beneath the victim’s body. Do you deny these facts?”

Jane rubbed his forehead with two fingers, and it was the most emotion he had thus far displayed after being in the witness box for the last twenty minutes with William’s hither and yon throwing of facts. “No.”

“Your blood, your DNA was found on the belt buckle of the victim, Joshua Neil, which was on the body, proving beyond any shadow of a doubt that you were present, near the victim, so close as to get your blood on him, so close as to leave behind your own DNA, your own personal genetic fingerprint of evidence, proving you knew the victim – well enough to want to wish him dead. Do you deny these facts?”

Jane was staring at the row of windows along the east wall. Outside the sun was in the sky shining down merrily. “No.” He said.

Williams nodded to himself. “There you have it, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, no denial of the facts, no denial that he knew the victim, and no denial of the crime. You have no choice but to find Mister Jane guilty of Murder in the First Degree. This was planned, premeditated murder. No more questions your Honour.”

Once Williams was seated Judge Gilpin asked Selby. “Counsellor, you’ve had your twenty minutes, are you ready to continue?”

“Yes, your honour. I am just waiting for a package, it should be here momentarily.”

“But you can begin?” Gilpin asked, growing weary of delays.

“Er - yes.” Selby would keep the ball rolling until the courier showed up. She approached Jane. His clothing was neat, his suit buttoned respectfully for the court and the judge, his hair in place, his face slack and his eyes, at least from a distance, calm. Everything about him in fact on his exterior upheld Williams’ assertion that there was nothing wrong what-so-ever with Patrick Jane.

But after spending months with him off and on, going over testimony, reading about his past, learning about Red John and what he had done to Patrick and others, and pondering over everything that had happened to Jane and to those he cared about since the murder of his family, even since being with the CBI spoke a wholly different story. 

Selby didn’t think Patrick was insane but he should be. Anyone would be and Selby didn’t think the jury understood that yet. “Patrick, right now I have just a few questions for you and after I want the jury to listen...” The courtroom doors opened, interrupting her as a man was passed through them. It was an entrance security person holding a thick envelope in his hand. Court security met him halfway up the aisle and the first fellow said something to the guard. The guard nodded, taking the envelope.

“Excuse me, judge.” Selby walked to meet the guard, taking the envelope and thanking him. Selby dumped its contents out onto her table. “If you’ll bear with me one moment your Honour.”

She sorted out what she needed and approached the female technician who had run the mall footage for Williams, handing her a series of photos and whispering to her for a moment. The tech’ girl nodded, readying her equipment.

“As I was saying, I want the jury to watch and listen as I explain some things that I believe have been overlooked.”

Williams, as though on cue, stood. “Objection! Your Honour, may we approach?”

Selby accompanied Williams to the bench. Williams looked nervous. “Your Honour,’ Williams said, “I have been given no prior knowledge of ...whatever this is...I assume photographs, and I would like to see them.”

Selby said “Certainly your Honour, if Mister Williams would like, he is of course welcome.”

Williams took the photos back from the tech’ woman and went through them. He brought them with him to the bench. “Your Honour, these are prejudicial and may negatively influence the jury to the defence’s case.”

“Let me see them.” Gilpin asked and Williams handed the photos to him, Gilpin purveying them for a moment. “They are...disturbing, Mister Williams, but hardly prejudicial. These have nothing to do with the Joshua Neil murder, although I’m not certain I see the reason Ms. Selby wishes to show them to the jury?” Making his last comment a question.

Selby accepted the photos back. “Mister Williams wished to show the state of Patrick Jane’s mind and what motivates him, your Honour, I’m simply trying to do the same. And you did allow the film...”

“I am fully aware of what I have allowed.” Gilpin said with a frown, and then with grudging respect. “Very clever of you Ms. Selby.” He looked at Williams with his hands spread. “Objection overruled, Mister Williams. The photos are allowed.”

As the photos were made ready to show to the jury, Gilpin announced. “I would advise those in the courtroom that if you have any children present, I strongly recommend you take them elsewhere for the duration of the viewing of these photos which shall commence once Ms. Selby has completed her questioning of the accused.”

Selby approached Jane boldly. She was not playing the sympathetic defence attorney, nor the concerned friend. It was time for complete and, if necessary, brutal interrogation. “You have testified that Red John has taken you twice Mister Jane.”

Jane nodded. “Yes. And Agent Lisbon once.” He reminded her.

“Yes, we are already aware of that.” Selby assured him and the jury. “Staring with the first abduction, what did Rd John do to you Mister Jane?”

Jane fidgeted in his seat. “He beat me.” He said simply.

“How?”

Jane stared at his lawyer. “What do you mean how?”

Selby spread her hands. “Well, did he use a wrench, a brick, a stick? How did he beat you? What specifically did he do to you?”

“He starved me for four days-“

“Did he bind you? Drug you? Remove your clothing and cut you? What??”

Lisbon closed her eyes, listening to Selby lay out the stark-raving words describing a time the horror of which the pampered defence attorney could not hope to comprehend. Whenever Lisbon remembered those terrible hours in Red John’s hand, she felt shame that at the time she was glad Red John had not done to her what he had done to Jane, and then immediately felt more shame for letting herself think that. But the fear had gotten hold of her in that awful room and the baser of her human self had come out; terror, weakness and the human instinct for self preservation.

Lisbon comforted herself sometimes by also remembering that she had screamed and begged Red John to stop hurting Jane, and Red John altogether ignoring her. 

Suddenly Lisbon was back in that terrifying place and Jane, sitting in the witness box looking like he was in shock, undoubtedly in some form was too.

Jane looked away from Selby to the jury. “All of them.” He whispered. There was no need for a minute by minute replay. Selby knew the details of his time under Red John’s merciless hands. The handbook of Red John had sat on her desk for weeks and Selby had already memorized every one of the killer’s dirty deeds.

Selby leaned in, a hand unnecessarily placed next to her ear. “I’m sorry we can’t hear you, Mister Jane. Would you please speak up?”

“I said all of them.” Jane said louder.

“All of them?” Selby repeated. “So he beat you and removed your clothing and cut you, and starved you?”

“Yes.”

“Did he rape you as well?”

Jane was silent for a few seconds before he whispered fierce words meant for Selby alone “Go to hell.”

Unmoved - “You are required to answer Mister Jane.” Selby said. “Did Red John in fact rape you?”

Jane sat in stony silence, not looking at her. As an answer it was clear enough. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Selby remarked. She stood with her hands clasped in front of her. “But he did something else didn’t he? Something that he knew would last as long as the memories of the beatings or his starving you or even the rape. Red John burned you didn’t he?”

Jane nodded. “Yes.”

Lisbon recalled Jane’s screams and his thrashing, and her own screaming at Red John to stop until it became a cacophony of pain of body and agony of soul. And still Red John ignored her, keeping the fire-hot brand against Jane’s skin until the flesh below his shoulder smoked and bubbled. During those moments upholding the letter of the law that was so front-and-centre in her career suddenly meant next to nothing. Had she been able to, she would have emptied her gun into Red John happily. Gleefully. And then she would have reloaded and fired again. 

“May we see?” Lisbon heard Selby ask the question and closed her eyes for Jane, to spare him at least one set of gaping eyes. Was Selby trying to hurt him now? What good would come from humiliating him?

“No.” Jane said, and Lisbon felt proud of him for trying. 

Selby walked closer to her client. “Mister Jane, in order for the jury to understand the impact Red John has had on your life and on your body and, if you will, your soul, it is necessary for you to show us.”

Jane did not move. “I am not going to undress.”

“Just your shirt.” Selby explained, sounding very reasonable. When he did not move to undo a single button, Selby said to the judge “Your honour, I please ask that you direct the witness to comply with my request.”

Gilpin, also looking a little uncomfortable with the direction things were taking in his courtroom never-the-less obliged the defence counsellor. “Mister Jane, you are hereby ordered to remove your shirt.”

With eyes of hatred Jane stared at Selby, but he shed his jacket, his movements slow and deliberate, and then unbuttoned his vest and shirt. Finally he took the two flaps of his shirt in his fingers and spread it apart above the waist until the scar was clearly visible.

Selby looked as did everyone in the courtroom. 

Though she had been on-site for its making, Lisbon could not help herself but look, too, ashamed of her own weakness where Jane was concerned. Jane’s smooth, nicely muscled chest was marred by a puckered circle of red flesh on the left side, just inches above the pink nipple. Although skin grafts had repaired much of the deeper damage, the smiling face of Red John’s signature mark could still be made-out. It was a tag of ownership. Red John’s morbid art-in-flesh, and a reminder of the killer that Jane would carry for the rest of his life.

Gilpin, fidgeting in his own seat, looked away. His voice sympathetic “Thank you, Mister Jane, you may get dressed now.” The judge said.

Once Jane finished dressing, Selby asked. “And what happened the second time Red John took you, this time from your own apartment? More of the same? Beatings? Rapes?”

“No.” Jane said. “He...” Jane gathered his thoughts. “He drugged me and beat me and then dumped me off in Sacramento.” 

“What was the reason for this abduction, do you think?”

“I don’t know.” Jane said. “I wish I did.”

Selby seemed satisfied with that. She walked to the technician lady to ensure things were ready, picked up the remote control for the changing of the photos on the viewer, and then returned to the centre of the courtroom. “We would now like to educate the jury on just who Red John is, specifically what kind of person he is. And we will learn this through his actions, from the things he has done. And once more, prepare yourselves as these are graphic photos.”

Selby switched the viewer on and a picture appeared on the screen that caused a collective gasp to spread around the room. “This is, this was, Misses Carol Harvey, one of Red John’s first victims. She died alone in her house, cut open and put on display in the manner that has become Red John’s signature kill. She had, as far as law enforcement has been able to learn, no connection to any criminal activity, she offended no-one, was enemies with no-one. Carol was a daughter, a friend, and according to her relatives, a lovely woman.”

The next photo appeared, this time two women. “These women are twin sisters - Janet and Jennie McFadden. One was a cosmetic technician, the other a legal aid. They shared a house that was left to them by their parents. Middle-aged women involved in their community; neighbourhood watch and charity drives. They took vacations together to Hawaii every year. Good citizens. Good people. Dead by Red John’s brutal hand.”

Selby glanced at Jane, who had his head turned away from the viewer. “There are over two dozen others.” Selby explained. “All murdered in their homes and all, as far as any have been able to determine, innocent and undeserving of such a terrible end. 

“But it’s this woman,” Selby pressed her controller again and a crime scene photo all too familiar to Lisbon appeared on the screen. “Angela Ruskin Jane - that concerns us most today.”

Jane whipped his head around and stared at the screen while Lisbon cursed Selby under her breath. This was what she had meant by the big guns. “Oh my god...” Lisbon whispered to Cho. “She’s using the crime scene photo’s.” She kept her gaze on Jane as his face transformed from a carefully barricaded facade of calm to the face of a husband staring at the fresh corpse of his murdered wife.

Jane sucked in a breath, with some effort pulling his eyes away from the screen and gluing them to the ledge in front of him, his face crumpling up, tears springing to life and beginning to drip slowly down his face. It was an eerily silent breakdown and Lisbon wanted to kill Selby for it.

“Mister Jane.” Selby said her voice more gentle now. She had abandoned her lawyer tone for one closer to human in the face of her client’s quiet anguish. “Just for the record - is this your wife?”

Jane did not turn his gaze back to the gruesome photo but kept it on his lawyer who was the orchestrator of his humiliation and pain. “You, you...why?” He asked in a strained whisper.

“Mister Jane – is this your wife?” Selby asked insistently, and when Jane clamped his mouth shut against her relentless lawyer-speak - “Your Honour would you please instruct the witness to view the photograph and confirm for us whether or not this is Angela Ruskin Jane, the wife of Patrick Jane, the accused?”

Judge Gilpin, himself reluctant to turn his own eyes on the macabre photo, said to Jane “I’m sorry, Mister Jane, I realize it must be painful, but you are hereby instructed to do as your attorney asks.”

Jane raised his eyes to the scene he had not looked upon for nine years and counting. Angela Jane’s body had been put on display as all the rest of Red John’s victims. She had been cut open from pelvis to sternum, her throat slashed so deeply it resembled the gaping grin of a toothless clown. Her dress, however, had been neatly arranged around her knees, and her hands folded across her chest.

Jane stole one lightening fast glance - it was all he needed - and turned away again. “Yes.”

Selby asked, this time her voice not so demanding “What do you miss about your wife?”

Jane did not answer her, instead closing his eyes to the reminder of that night, and the horror that had greeted him in his daughter’s bedroom where they had both died.

“Mister Jane?” Selby encouraged even more gently. “Tell us about your wife Angela. Please?”

Jane, his eyes squeezed shut so tightly it looked painful, spoke barely above a whisper. It was just audible enough that, shrewdly, Selby did not interrupt him. Her client finally showing human emotions was too valuable an influence over the jury’s sympathies. She did not want to screw with this little bit of head-way. “Angie – she” Jane stammered, speaking in jerks and stops, “was my...she was t-the best thing that e-ever happened to me.” He said in between shaky breaths. “A w-wonderful mother, a good frien - my best friend, a...better person than me in...e-every way. A good person...in-innocent.”

“And how did it feel to lose her?”

Jane looked at her, his face pale as a sheet. “I wanted to die.” His facial expression, one of pure hatred for his lawyer, added a few silent expletives to his simple statement.

“And as we have already learned when you were in Greenlawn you in fact attempted suicide.”

“Yes.”

Selby clicked the button on her little remote control of horrors and asked him. “And do you recognise this person?”

Jane looked at his lawyer, stunned. Even Selby, his face seemed to say, would not stoop to putting his daughter’s body on display just to gain the jury’s sympathy. 

“No.” He said, and this time it was obvious to Lisbon that he meant it. He had not looked upon his daughter that way since that terrible night and he would not do so now – not for anything.

Selby stepped in closer and Lisbon could see her whisper something to Jane, and Jane staring back into her eyes with his own red-rimmed ones. He looked beaten.

Finally Jane turned his eyes on the heartless photograph of his daughter’s bloody corpse, her flesh splayed out as her mother’s had been. He had found them side-by-side, lying together as though in repose, except for the gaping wounds. Jane could still smell the odour of human meat and blood. The air in the bedroom had actually been humid with their body fluids. 

Jane could only manage the quickest of glances before his head dropped to his chest powerlessly, and he collapsed forward, falling into the small privacy of his arms folded on the wood ledge of the witness box, his shoulders shaking in silent, man-sized sobs.

“What do you miss about your daughter, Mister Jane?” Selby asked. “What do you miss about Charlotte?”

His face still hidden, Jane shook his head back and forth. “No.” He said, his voice a keen of grief, “I wo - I can’t talk about h-her.” 

For the benefit of the jury Selby said loudly “You must.” She urged, and then leaned in and said for his ears only “Don’t let the bastard win.”

Jane tried to calm himself, sitting straighter in his chair, his chin to his chest, tears still streaming but speaking quietly and quickly so as to get the whole ordeal over-with as fast as possible before he fell to pieces from the sorrow. “When I came home from work in the evening, she would take me to her room and show me what she’d done that day in school – what she drawn or learned. Sometimes we’d talk for a half hour or more, it was...our time.” He sniffed loudly. “That was always the best part of my day.” 

His eyes screwed shut and the tears flowed fast and furious, but Jane seemed to be okay with it. He was beyond caring what anyone thought now. Let them look. “Losing them will a-always be the w-worst day of my life. Charlotte – Strawberry - was the only perfect thing I ever accomplished. It’s my fault she’s dead. They died because of me.”

“And since then,” Selby encouraged, “you have hunted the man who murdered them?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve made mistakes.”

“Yes.”

“When you confronted the man Timothy Carter, when you realized or at the time thought, that he was Red John, what happened there? What happened to you?”

“Lisbon’s...Agent Lisbon’s words went through my head. That maybe bringing him to justice would be enough. Maybe I was wrong to want to him dead, but...he told me how my daughter smelled. He knew that – and he shouldn’t have known that if he was not Red John.” Jane whispered it as though it were a profound and terrible and hurtful betrayal of his position as a father. Only daddies should know how their precious child should smell. “Strawberries - her hair, the shampoo, it was strawberries, and he should not have known that.” 

Jane, examining his fingers, puzzled, still trying to work it all out, audibly whispered it again because up to that moment he still did not understand why Timothy Carter would know such a thing, especially since they had discovered that Carter supposedly had no connection at all to Red John. “He knew how she smelled.” He said. “How could he know that if he was not the killer? He had to be Red John, he had to be...so I...so despite what Agent Lisbon said, he needed to die.” Jane took another shaky breath. The courtroom was hot and stuffy and he felt squeezed-in. “Because...”

“Because...what?” Selby was fascinated and pleased by this surprising and useful to their case turning-of-the-cards.

“Because I remembered...” Jane took a deep breath, his memories of his slaughtered child fading once more and the focus of his mind again on his single quest to hunt Red John down if it was the last thing he ever did, “how Red John managed to get an accomplice into the CBI offices. Rebecca Demarco had worked there for over a year before she murdered Agent Bosco and his team, and Sherriff Hardy had been at his post for years before Red John used him to kidnap that girl and try to murder me. 

“And there were others...others Red John used to hurt people over and over. There would always be someone Red John had in his control to...get to me or to those I care about.” Jane slumped. He was exhausted. “And it occurred to me: What jail would ever hold him? If he can get to a sheriff and into the CBI offices and elsewhere...how long would he remain in prison before he escaped?” Jane looked over at the jury once, and then down at his hands, and finally at his lawyer. “So I decided to shoot that son-of-a-bitch.”

“No matter the consequences to yourself?”

“Yes, no matter the consequences. The only thing is...”

“What?”

“I don’t remember pulling the trigger.”

Selby looked surprised for the second time. This bit of information she had evidently not expected either. “You were out of your mind?”

“I...I don’t know...” Jane shook his head, his memories over the event apparently not as clear as they all had once assumed. “I don’t know, but I remember standing in that cafe’, and suddenly I could smell my daughter’s shampoo.” His face threatened to fold in on itself again in grief, but taking a few seconds and a couple of deep breaths, he managed to shake it off. “I smelled her hair, and I knew I had to kill him.”

Selby leaned in and audibly thanked her client. She turned to the judge. “Our defence stands, your honour. Not guilty by reason of temporary insanity.”

Gilpin asked the prosecutor. “Mister Williams, do you wish to cross?”

Selby smiled to herself and Cho whispered loudly enough for Lisbon to hear. “Fat chance. Williams would have the jury turning on him like a rabid dog if he tried to question Jane now.”

Lisbon agreed. “He’s experienced enough to know it could sway the jury to Jane’s side. A crying man is a heart-breaker. Attacking that crying man could turn the jury against the prosecution.” 

Williams stood respectfully. “Ahem. No your Honour. No questions.”

Jane vacated the witness stand to his retake his seat beside his lawyer, and Lisbon watched his every lethargic step. His public humiliation was complete. Jane’s personal tragedy was gossip for the county, a sordid tale for the viewers to chew over until the next gory horror made the six o’clock news. 

CBI

Selby joined Lisbon and Cho outside the courtroom in the hall for a brief fifteen minute recess before closing statements. Selby expressed her concerns. “I’m not sure it will be enough.” She looked over to where Jane sat apart from them in a hard chair against the rich cherry-wood wall, sipping tea someone had brought him.

Lisbon’s head swam with all the new things she had learned today about her often secretive but loyal employee. Some of the things she wished she could one day forget, except for the sight of Jane sobbing like a child over his murdered family. Somehow that image, however heart-wrenching, solidified in her mind his deep humanity and frailty as an individual, a side of him which she had always suspected but which he had often hid away. In a weird, twisted way, it endeared him to her beyond measure. “What do you mean?” Lisbon asked.

Selby sipped her own coffee, black-two-sugars. “I mean it may not be enough to convince the jury. They sympathise but Williams is going to demand they be objective and if Jane’s breakdown didn’t twist their hearts hard enough, they’ll do it. People are essentially suckers for the Law.” 

Lisbon couldn’t help but hear Jane’s voice in Selby’s words. Jane was not a stickler about the Law either. He wanted justice. Ironically he often tried to get it by performing a lot of little injustices as he went along. “What are his chances?” Lisbon asked, looking for hope.

“If we’re lucky?” Selby asked rhetorically “Fifty-fifty.”

CBI

Closing statements were made, Williams speaking of justice and Law and the wrongs of taking the law into one’s own hands no matter the compelling reasons, and that though Jane was a fine investigator he was still a cold-hearted man motivated by personal vengeance and wasn’t it obvious that he was not insane? Troubled perhaps but not insane at all. No he was guilty of murder and the jury should so find!

Selby’s closing statement was sort and simple. She asked the jury to examine Patrick Jane, and not just the cold, bare facts of the case. Examine him as one human being to another, as one frail, breakable person to another who had already been broken. Examine Patrick and what led Patrick to his actions on the day in question and the killing of Joshua Neil. Remember that Mister Jane’s psychiatric history and the on-going anguish of his personal story. Selby asked them to keep in close in mind that a violent serial killer was as much hunting Patrick as he was hunting the killer, and the strain that would put on a man. She asked them to remember that Patrick Jane was fail-able and yes he had made mistakes as all humans did, but he was a man driven to madness over the loss of his family and the obsessive need to hunt down those responsible. Selby asked them to remember that though Patrick Jane broke the Law by shooting Joshua Neil, he did so under extreme circumstances, a man under terrible strain and mental pain. Selby told them to remember the testimony of Jane’s psychiatrist and that of his colleagues, and to make their decision based on all of these factors, not just the evidence as it was presented, because people and what drives them are more than the hard facts or the circumstances in which they find themselves. People are persons under God and our fellows. “Patrick is not just the investigator or the mental patient or even the killer – he was also someone’s son, someone’s husband and someone’s – a little girl’s - father. Thank you for your attention.”

Selby sat down. “I hope your fingers are crossed.” She said to her client. 

As Judge Gilpin droned on about the letter of the Law to the jurors, Jane looked over at his lawyer, then to the judge, then over to the jury and then, finally, he did something Lisbon did not expect. For the first time since the trial began he turned around in his seat and looked directly at her, his expression was inscrutable.

When he turned back around he pushed back his chair and stood up, taking his lawyer by surprise. Selby asked “Patrick? What are you doing?”

Jane said to the judge. “Your Honour, I would like to change my plea.”

Gilpin stopped his speeches and stared over his glasses at Selby’s client. “Is this some kind of joke, Mister Jane? Closing arguments have already been given.”

“Then I would like to make a statement before the jury is excused to deliberate.” He insisted. “I am allowed to make a statement aren’t I? I’m the one facing jail for the rest of my life.”

With one hand Selby was yanking on his jacket sleeve. “Patrick. What are you doing?” When Jane ignored her, she stood. “Excuse me, your Honour, I don’t think my client understands –“

“I understand.” Jane said, cutting her off. “I want to say something to Judge Gilpin and the jury.”

“Ms. Selby, do you mind?” Gilpin said. “He is allowed is he so wishes.” 

Selby reluctantly sat down, bracing herself for the worst while Gilpin resumed his little talk with Jane. “Indeed you are, Mister Jane.” Gilpin said, “In answer to both questions; yes, you are still under oath and, yes, you are allowed to make any statement you wish. Do you wish to take the stand?”

Jane looked over at the lonely witness box, and shook his head once. “No. If I’m still under oath, I can make my statement from here can’t I?”

Gilpin nodded solemnly, folding his hands in front of him. “If you like.”

Jane rubbed the tips of his right fingers across the table and then forced them to his sides as he spoke. “Then I’d like to say that I knew Joshua Neil.” He paused “But I never knew him as Joshua Neil, only as Josh. I met him once. He was the man Red John hired to beat me.”

Gilpin sat up. “I see.”

“There’s more.” Jane said.

Gilpin waved a hand. “Go on Mister Jane.”

“My blood and DNA was found on the belt buckle because that was the belt Red John used to cut the bottoms of my feet. The fingerprints were on the gun because, yes, it was my gun, but Red John took it from me when I was in San Francisco trying to find him...to kill him. Only I...failed to accomplish that. Red John drugged me and drove me back to Sacramento, dumping me off by the CBI offices with a warning to never try to find him again, and that he would punish me for doing so. It is my belief that Red John then killed Josh and planted the gun beneath his body as a punishment to me. So I would end up here, and so...so I would have to confess my deceit to save myself.”

“To what deceit specifically are you referring?” Judge Gilpin asked, now thoroughly engrossed in Patrick Jane’s little confession.

“That the second time Red John took me; he didn’t really...take me.” Jane twisted, almost turning around once more to look at the stricken face of his boss, but forced himself to stay as he was. “I arranged my own disappearance because I was trying to protect my team. Red John had set fire to Agent Van Pelt’s apartment and I knew it was going to be just the first of many attempts against the people I work with in order to terrify me...because I care about them and Red John knows that. So I faked my own disappearance to get to him first.” Jane said. His voice was filled with regret. “Only I wasn’t able to...kill him I mean.”

Jane looked around the courtroom. “This whole thing, this trial, is Red John’s punishment.” 

Gilpin asked. “Mister Jane, normally I would leave such a question up to the counsellors at hand, but what proof can you provide that this statement of yours holds any truth?”

“If the FBI forensic team in charge of the Red John files checks room 221 at the San Francisco downtown Hilton, they’ll find trace evidence of a murder. A woman, the chamber maid, was killed there by Red John. It was done to hurt me; another of his “punishments”, no doubt she has since been reported missing by friends or relatives to the local authorities. 

“I believe Joshua Neil was Red John’s cleaner, hired by him and brought in to scrub down the room. But if the CSI’s look closely, they’ll find her blood soaked into the cracks between the bathroom tiles and possibly into the paint on the wall. I guess to find out they’ll have to use their glowlie-blue spray stuff...whatever you call it.”

“I see.” Gilpin said soberly. “Is that all, Mister Jane?”

Jane nodded, and sat down again beside his apoplectic lawyer. “Yes, that’s all.”

In her seat Lisbon said under her breath. “Jesus Christ, Jane...”

Gilpin removed his glasses. “Well, that is an extraordinary statement, Mister Jane, and I can’t help but wonder why you waited until the last possible moment to reveal your thoughts but, however much this information may alter any decision regarding your immediate future, that will still be up to the jury to determine.”

Gilpin then put a question to both the prosecution and the defence. “In light of this statement, do either of you wish to redress any part of your witnesses testimonies?”

Selby stood. “Yes, your Honour. I would like to recall Doctor Ladal Jalak to the stand.”

Doctor Jalak, the Medical Examiner in the case, was recalled and gave further testimony. 

Jalak was as useful as Selby had hoped. Well, I am a doctor, Jalak said, though my specialty is in forensics and not family practise but yes, the scars on the bottoms of Mister Jane’s feet could have been made with a sharp piece of metal and not only with glass shards or rocks as Mister Jane originally put forward as the cause. Yes, they could be consistent with the sharp metal tooth of a belt buckle, certainly. Was Mister Jane’s behaviour that night when he stumbled into CBI badly beaten consistent with not only the injuries sustained but with the possibility of there being drugs still in his system?? Yes, that is a possibility, though impossibly to verify now.

At Selby’s urgent questions, Jalak continued. Certainly – yes - Mister Jane’s injuries were consistent with a severe beating about the head, torso and legs; injuries which could have been caused by fists or feet – boots to be more specific. The cut to Mister Jane’s throat, not as wide or as deep as Red John’s other victims, could possibly suggest that Red John had not intended to kill Patrick, merely to punish. At any rate, Patrick Jane was left alive, his injuries very bad but ultimately, in Jalak’s professional medical opinion, not life threatening.

Selby thanked the doctor and said to the judge. “No more questions, your honour.”

Gilpin looked at Williams who shook his head in the negative. “No questions, Judge.”

“Am I to understand that both the prosecution and the defence rest from their cases?”

“Yes, your Honour.” Williams and Selby answered almost simultaneously.

“Very well.” Gilpin then turned his attention to the jury. “The jury is hereby in deliberation from now until they reach a verdict. You shall be escorted to an undisclosed place where you will be kept comfortable until such a time as you have made your decision. The accused, Mister Jane, will also remain in Sacramento until that time.” 

Gilpin looked at him directly. “Do you understand me, Mister Jane? You will not leave Sacramento until a verdict has been reached and the jury is recalled. At that time you also will be recalled. Do I make myself clear?”

Jane nodded, answering quietly “Yes.”

CBI

Jane stood by his lawyer, rocking on his toes, stealing glimpses at Lisbon as she and Cho spoke in low tones some yards away.

“I hope your little surprise in there saves your ass because our insanity defence just went down the toilet.” Selby pointed out to Jane. He didn’t respond and Selby was enough tuned in to the man by now to know that he had other things on his mind – like his job and where he now stood with his boss, the pushy, sharp-tongued Teresa Lisbon. “Why don’t you go talk to her?” Selby suggested. “What’s she going to do – shoot you?”

“She might.” He answered.

Selby said “Look, the deliberating could take a while. In fact, the longer they talk, the better the news will probably be for you, so maybe we should both get hotel rooms nearby or something? I’ll make the reservations and we can have some dinner. I’m starving.” Selby left to make the arrangements, and Jane wandered over to where Van Pelt had just arrived, joining Lisbon and Cho.

Lisbon didn’t look at him as he approached them. Van Pelt, true to her form, impulsively embraced him in a warm hug. “Hi Jane.” She said.

Jane smiled and gently disengaged himself from her strong arms. “Hi.” 

Cho asked. “How ya’ doing?”

Jane shrugged again, a habitual gesture that had lately turned into a nervous tic’. “Wondering if prison food has improved in the last year. You?”

Cho was thinking of something to say to that when without warning Jane turned to the very silent and angry Lisbon, speaking quickly, his words tumbling out like candy from broken a gumball machine. “Lisbon, I wouldn’t have lied to you if I knew things were going to turn out the way they did. I wouldn’t have - I promise you that. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I was just trying to protect the team.”

Lisbon looked back at him, nodding perfunctorily, as though she had heard such and more a thousand times. “I know. You were just doing what you thought was right.” But she was not going to let him off so easily. “You were just doing what you always do – playing the martyr or the lone wolf and almost getting yourself killed. Well, I gotta’ tell you, Jane, what you think is right isn’t always what’s best.” She snapped. “For any of us.”

With one angry fist, Lisbon grabbed his jacket-sleeve and pulled him aside, away from the earshot of the others. “Well, I’ve had it with you using that excuse for the reckless endangerment of your own life – using us. I don’t – we don’t care about your quest for revenge or your desire for wild-west justice – we only care about you. God help me, we still actually care, so if you still want this job - if you manage to stay out of jail that is – then from now on, you’ll be partnered up as a matter of course; every damn day until you retire. No going off alone, no lying, and no more of this lone wolf crap or right now go pack up your goddamn desk and quit!” 

Lisbon let a wave of sadness cross her delicate features that said so much more. Disappointment over what he had done plus fear over what might happen to him next if he was taken away from her for good. “Because I can’t go through this every week anymore.” She said to him. “I can’t.” It was her turn to shrug. Let him interpret it as he may. “It hurts too much.”

Jane looked back at his angry, hurt but still forgiving boss and friend, so grateful that he had met this woman. So lucky to have her backing him up and saving him when required, and scolding him when he needed it, and teasing him gently when he really needed it. “I’m sorry.” I never wanted to hurt you. Not ever!

CBI

“We the jury in the case of the State of California against the accused Mister Patrick Jane of Sacramento of the charge of Murder in the first degree, find the defendant Not Guilty.”

Gilpin added a recommendation to Jane of voluntary psychiatric counselling, to which suggestion Jane just smiled politely.

Selby lingered behind to shake Williams’ hand. “Good fight out there, Henry.”

“You got lucky.” He said, and Selby laughed. “Hah! You wish.” Then followed her client who was already out in the hallway where his friends had gathered to slap him on the back.

When Selby approached the little group of CBI agents and their consultant enjoying his new freedom, Jane excused himself to the men’s room. Selby watched his stiffly retreating back with a twist of her lip, and remarked to Lisbon. “He thinks he resents me now? Wait ‘till he gets my bill.”

Selby could well understand his feelings toward her, and the cool reception she had received from them all after seeing Jane’s breakdown in the witness box. Anger from a client or his friends and family was par for the course for a defence or prosecuting attorney alike. Sometimes to win, you had to be a bitch. 

“Sorry about him.” Lisbon said by way of an apology. “He thinks you’re a...um...terrible person.”

Selby caught the undercurrent in the meaning. Lisbon thought the same. Selby smiled indulgently. “Lucky for him, though, I’m a shit-hot defence lawyer. Goodbye Agent Lisbon and good luck. I have a feeling you’ll need it.” Selby said in parting. 

Lisbon said to her team. “Let’s go get some food, I’m hungry and Jane’s buying.”

“No I’m not.” He said, back from the washroom in time to see his lawyer walking away, and then obediently following his petite, raven-haired goddess to whichever restaurant she chose. “You think I’m made of money?” He asked.

“You sure got more of it than me.” Lisbon answered with a huff.

“Not with the money you pay me.”

“Take it up with Bertram.” Lisbon said.

“Thanks, I will. How much do you make, by the way?” Jane inquired.

“Hah. None of your business.”

“You know I can easily find out, Lisbon, so you may as well just tell me.”

Lisbon lamented “I should have brought my gun.”

“You would never shoot me, Lisbon. You keep denying it, but you know you love me.” Jane countered.

Lisbon sighed wearily. “Cho, do you have your gun?”  
CBI-------END


End file.
